


Touch.

by sofortig



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Loki - Freeform, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki x Reader - Freeform, Oneshot, lokixreader, marvel oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 18:58:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12394176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofortig/pseuds/sofortig
Summary: 'The room lapses back into silence again, and you focus on trying to breathe. There was no understandable reason as to why you felt slightly uneasy, but even more so no reason as to why this uneasiness was not an unwelcomed feeling. The knot in your stomach was tight, constricting your breathing though it had no physical effect on your lungs, and yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was accompanied by a warmth, too ridiculous to be justifiable and yet too welcomed to be ignored. Breathing, thankfully, is something you remember how to do.'Loki x ReaderWordcount: 861





	Touch.

“Sit still.”

The man with the raven hair hums in amusement but he complies with your request. You haven’t ever known anyone to be so restless, even when there was no possible chance of anything going awry. Beneath Asgard’s royal halls the dungeons lay, cloaked in warding spells and layers of concrete. There was no conceivable eventuality in which anything could happen to him. Of course, there was every change the prince may choose to bash your skull in, but the threat of him escaping was very slim.

The cell in which you now sat was remarkably luxurious for someone who was set to spend the rest of their life in captivity, even by palace standards. Of course, you were not resigned to such splendour in your own living quarters, even if you worked in the palace. Medics did not tend to furnish their bedrooms with golden cutlery.

“Your hands are cold.”

You ignore him and dab lightly at the drying bleed under his eyebrow. It was safe to assume getting him into the cell hadn’t been altogether easy, as he looked rather like he’d been trampled by a very large bildshnipe. His body had mostly healed already – of course it had. Between his magic and his Asgardian blood, he wasn’t exactly a slow healer. The blood which still stuck to his ivory skin, however, was not so easily rid of. It’s ridiculous, you think, that you should be sent to do this instead of a normal serving girl. Wiping away blood wasn’t exactly soul forge science.

“Really,” he continues, “you should invest in a pair of good gloves. I always appreciated a glove. A surprisingly good medium to hit my brother with in our youth.”

You bite your cheeks to keep yourself from smiling and rock back onto your heels to stand from where you were crouched by his head. He was sat on the bed, with you previously hunkered down between his legs to attend to his face. Irritatingly, you only realise this after you stand, and pray your embarrassment isn’t obvious.

Happily, it doesn’t seem to be, as the prince’s face remains impassive, his gaze set on yours. As it were, you weren’t entirely sure you’d ever considered this before. This, being how intriguing the prince was. Yggdrasill forbid you allowed yourself to think ‘handsome’ and so you don’t. Instead, you focus on how sharp the bridge of his nose is, how thin his lips, how startlingly green his eyes were against pale skin and raven-black locks. As you do so, completely unaware of your own strange behaviour, the prince arches one dark eyebrow.

“Admiring your handiwork?”

You regard him for a moment, searching the blue-green of his eyes. “There’s some blood on your ear.”

“I’m glad you thought I should know.” His voice is nothing short of patronising. “Will you be attending to it?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “With respect, your highness, you don’t want my help.”

“Oh? And when did I come to this decision? Forgive me, for it escaped my notice.” When you remain silent, he rolls his eyes and holds the cloth you had left on the bed next to him out to you. “I said your hands were cold, not that I wanted you to leave.” You say nothing again and eye the cloth suspiciously, as if it might jump at you and attack. You’d never before been afraid of linen, a fact which the prince seems to find both evident and amusing. “I can’t see my own ears.”

You had to give him that, yes, whilst he was a skilled wielder of magic, he could not see his own ears. Sighing, you take the cloth and kneel back down between his legs. “No,” you say, “I suppose you can’t.”

The room lapses back into silence again, and you focus on trying to breathe. There was no understandable reason as to why you felt slightly uneasy, but even more so no reason as to why this uneasiness was not an unwelcomed feeling. The knot in your stomach was tight, constricting your breathing though it had no physical effect on your lungs, and yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was accompanied by a warmth, too ridiculous to be justifiable and yet too welcomed to be ignored. Breathing, thankfully, is something you remember how to do and you take the cloth to the prince’s right ear. He winces slightly at the contact; it hasn’t fully healed yet.

“Sorry,” you murmur, your forehead creasing as you concentrate. You don’t even think twice, not even considering the repercussions, when you raise your hand to the left side of his face to steady it. The blood is beginning to shift, transferring its crimson colour onto the cloth in your hand. You dab a few more times, unaware of Loki’s burning gaze fixated onto your eyes, yours fixated on your work.

His skin is surprisingly cool under your own, like the touch of metal left in the fresh air. Locks of that raven-black hair tickle your fingertips as your palm cups his cheek and you sigh. Drawing back slightly, you shift your eyes to his. “I think it’s-”

Your speech stops simultaneously with the feeling that your heart does. Realisation of your proximity is alarmingly sudden and not altogether expected as you grasp for words. “-fine.” The word is barely audible. Loki doesn’t move, his gaze impossibly dark, and instead watches you closely. As if shocked by unseen force, you go to jerk your hand backward, muttering your apologies as you do so.

“Don’t.”

His hand comes up to catch your wrist, holding it in place. “Don’t.”

Of all the things that ever came as a shock to you, that was probably the most surprising. You were surprised at the coolness of his skin, the gentleness of his voice, the sadness in his eyes. You hadn’t considered until that very moment that you might be the last Aseir contact he got in a very long time.

Perhaps then, you shouldn’t have been surprised when he kissed you.

Perhaps then, you should have been surprised when you kissed him back.

But you weren’t. You weren’t sorry that you didn’t think you’d regret it. You weren’t sorry that this was what you wanted. You just wanted to kiss him.

And so you did.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: https://merdelera.tumblr.com/
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this; it was a hell of a lot of fun to write. If you would like to request a oneshot, have a gander on my tumblr, you'll find everything you need there :)


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